Thereupon Mr. Selden recalled that meeting, and others, and his voice trailed like a snake in the dust, looping cryptic patterns. It was one of those counts of grievance and disaster such as almost any broken fugitive among far places has to tell. Thursday can offer them by the yard, and dear at the price of a drink. He spoke of shares and deals and swindling betrayal; of hope and fortune lost, and the false lead that puts a man on the chute and sets him off for a blackleg and a wanderer. All in the clipped jargon of the markets, a common tale, but with this difference in the telling—it came away briefly, with the slow-biting venom that such a fugitive would be apt to reserve for only one out of all possible living listeners in the world. From over the hidden weapon he drove home his point; while Wetherbee stood there rooted on the jetty, like the Wedding Guest.
"... So you knifed the lot of us in the dark—everyone that trusted you—and bolted. That was your way. You sent me ashore from that last yachting party all primed to go my last penny on a dead bird. I was flattered. I used to credit your honesty more or less myself—then."
"And now?" suggested Wetherbee.
Mr. Selden, late deacon, drew a husky breath.
"Why, now—I've caught up with you. I'm the flaw in the title, at 50 per cent. I'm judgment out of the past! Verily, no man shall escape it: do you mark? No man comes so far or hides his track so cleverly, even at Thursday Island. I've got your record—as you've got mine, of course; but yours is rather worse, with a warrant pending—of which, by the way, I know the very date.... And, besides, I've nothing at all to lose. I'm only a broken diver. Nobody ever called me 'Honest' Selden or 'Honest' anything else!"
His wrists stiffened as Wetherbee took a step.
"You mean to blow, you wasp?"
"You won't make me. Blow! That's no good to me: I mean to get level. Halvers, I said—captain.... I'm in!"
"On what?"
"On your new speculation, of course." He came very close to capering. "Your latest deviltry. Don't I know your little methods? D'you think I couldn't smell it out? Public character, no suspicion, traces all removed—alibi all complete—and a clear road to the back door.